


Wicked Intent

by ClinicalChaos



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Alternate Universe - Supernatural Elements, Demon AU, F/F, Falling In Love, Fluff, Girls in Love, Happy Ending, Polyamory, Romance, Threesome - F/F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-02
Updated: 2016-01-02
Packaged: 2018-05-11 03:06:58
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,952
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5611531
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ClinicalChaos/pseuds/ClinicalChaos
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Gilburte Beilschmidt has seen a lot since slaughtering her birth village, a 14th century nightmare that burned her as a witch. Currently, she has a front row seat to the dramatics of Francois Bonnefoy and Rose Kirkland, who can't seem to decided if they love each other or not. </p>
<p>Matiline Williams just wants to forget about the fangs in her mouth. When her twin, Alizabeth Jones, falls in love with Francois Bonnefoy, she's just grateful that one of them is happy. </p>
<p>Together, perhaps Gilburte and Matiline can both find a reason to leave the side lines of life. Even if, you know, they're both sort of undead already.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Wicked Intent

"Francois, you're a complete prick." Gil slurred drunkenly, flaying herself across the bar. It was a good bar, she thought, stroking the counter. If she focused, she could feel the runes carved into the wood - protective, fortifying, stasis, flame-retardant – the whole shebang. Nuclear winter was probably what denting the thing would take. Not a bad policy when one served demons (and other). Gil preferred a good-old war, herself, but she supposed wanton destruction wasn’t profitable to a bar-owner.

Pity, that.  

"Oh, ma cherie!" Francois cackled, slapping a dainty hand on Gil's back. Gil glared as the blonde’s claws dug into her skin. "You would know, I have not even a little prick on me!"

Between them, Antonia howled, horns glimmering golden in the light. Gil smiled into her beer, happy to hear her friends happy. They'd stuck together, her little lost band of demons, pillaging as they'd pleased. Now in the new millennium, New York sat open to them like an oyster. Magic thrummed in this city, more than Gil had ever felt. Establishments like the bar attracted magicals, catering to them as nowhere else did. Hidden to humans, there had to be something supernatural about you to even get in.

Gil adored the whole idea. Sure, humans were fun, but watching lesser creatures stare at her slick black wings and polished horns pleased an instinctual part of Gil. They'd grown infamous, she and her cohorts, and when they lounged in all their splendor, the whispers of the rabble were always something to grin about.

"I heard the Celts worshiped them as goddesses!"

"Please, wasn't the Lady born in the French Revolution?"

"Probably woke sucking the marrow from a king's bones!"

"Who cares? The Conquista’s responsible for sinking  _the entire_  Spanish Armada!"

"Shush! If the Knight hears you, we'll all be dead!"

"Ah, I wouldn't mind dying if she let me have her first..."

Francois sighed dramatically, her red wine sloshing in her glass. She met Gil's eyes and nodded towards the mutterers behind them. “They even have pet names for us! Oh, if only my Rose spoke of me so sweetly. "

Gil rolled her eyes, suddenly remembering why they had met up at the bar in the first place. Rose Kirkland, court sorceress to no less than ninety-six iterations of the British royal family. Also, Francois' long-time semi-lover. They'd been doing it on and off for centuries, but the relationship had been mostly open. Francois, apparently, had recently tried to go steady, only to be rebuffed by the witch.

_Witches_ , Gil thought distastefully. More damn trouble than they were worth. Gil would know; she’d been burned as one in fifteenth century Germany. Boy, had the villagers ever been surprised when  _she’d_  turned up again, newly bloody-eyed and demonic.

Gil still couldn’t help but smile at the memories. Served the fuckers right.    

Ignoring her old glory for a moment, Gil wrapped her arms around Francois. Antonia, squished in-between, looped her arms around their shoulder with a broad grin. "If she can't take the fire, she don't deserve the heat, Hot Stuff!" Gil puffed. Admittedly, that had sounded a lot more comforting in Gil's tipsy head.

From the tangle of limbs, Antonia nodded wisely. She couldn't really offer much comfort, though. Lovina Vargas, Italian siren, had finally given in to her advances after much coaxing, and so Antonia was happily monogamous for the first time since her death. That left Gil to sooth Francois' sorrows. Hence, alcohol.

"Non, non, you don't understand!" Francois sniffed, throwing her radiant hair back. Her dazzling red horns seemed to droop in misery. "It is not that my sweet Rose does not  _want_ me! She said she does want me, dearly, for the first time ever!"      

Gil's eyebrows shot to her hairline. Even more infamous than Rose's magical prowess was her disdain for the expression of positive emotion. Girl wasn't a lovey-dovey person, was what Gil was getting at. She'd slain other magicals defending Francois' (non-existent) honour, but damn if Rose Kirkland had ever verbally admitted to  _anyone_ that Francois meant anything to her (let alone to Francois herself.)

"I know," Francois said, her jewel-blue eyes glimmering with tears. "My heart did leap for the joy of her words!"

Antonia straightened from their huddle, blinking. "What's the problem, then?"

Francois drained the rest of her wine, slamming the glass on the bar. Only the enchantment etched on the bottom of the glass kept it from breaking. "There is  _another_ ,” she hissed.

Gil nearly choked on her beer. "What?!"

Francois nodded, seeming to crumple in on herself. Antonia cooed comfortingly and Francois flopped against her in a weepy, alcohol-laden heap. Gil, being the pragmatic one, ordered more wine. Snapping her fingers, they watched for a moment as Francois’ glass refilled. Ah, the wonders of magic. You only needed to give your order to the barkeep once and then a simple snap would keep it coming.

Gil helpfully nudged the glass closer to her puffy-eyed friend. Francois looked considering for a moment, but eventually became horizontal again. Gil gave herself a thumbs up for a job well-done.

"There is another woman,” Francois spat once she had the first sip down, clutching her glass to her chest. “Somehow, she has tempted my darling from me!"

"But Kirkland said she still wants you?" Gil clarified.

"Oui," Francois moaned. "When I asked how such a thing could be, she said she needed more time and pushed me out the door," Francois hiccuped, clearly tipsy. "I feel so confused!"

"You and me both, sister," a new voice added.

As one, the three demonesses whipped their heads to Francois' other side. Another woman had pulled up a stool, her pretty face set in a mulish pout. Blonde locks tumbled down around her jawline in antebellum curls, her curves held in by daisy dukes and a crop top that did little to hide her tan. A bomber jacket hung from her shoulders. As far as Gil could see, there was nothing dangerous about her.

Gil sipped her beer, eyes on the girl. Lord knew looks could be deceiving.

"Oh," Francois replied, unable to ignore a pretty girl even in the throes of her own heartache. "And what have you done to be out in my boat?"

"Nothing, far as I can tell," the blonde sighed. "I thought everything was going dandy until she told me she had a side-chick she couldn't leave behind." She perked up as the barman strolled by, "Hey, whiskey, please! And hold the ice!"

"Please, allow me to add it to my tab," Francois offered. She turned fully toward the new face. With a little magic, the tear tracks and swollen eyes disappeared, leaving Francois looking as made up as always. Gil bet she’d vanished the alcohol from her blood, too. Gil didn’t bother restraining her sigh. It looked like at least Francois' night had turned for the better.

Now, don't misunderstand her. Francois cared about Rose Kirkland more than anyone in their right mind possibly could. However, that wasn't to say Francois was above a little revenge. Rose gave as good as she got, anyway.

Turning away from the newest move in the pair's on-going romantic chess game, Gil turned to make a witty and utterly charming remark to Antonia, only to find the other demoness bent over her cell phone. Her fingers flew a mile a minute, while a dopey grin spread across her face. Texting Lovina, then. Wonder-fucking-ful.

Gil took another draft of her beer. Sometimes, it really fucking sucked being a single demon.

* * *

 

Several weeks later, Gil found herself gaping. Louboutins and Jimmy Choos covered the floor. Expensive dresses, thousand-dollar jackets, and designer handbags slumped on the furniture. Several million dollars in ancient, antique, and modern jewelry was strewn across the bedspread. Gil was beginning to worry. The swirling mess of luxury clothing and accessories seemed to eat up the whole damn apartment. Frankly, Gil was terrified of seeing the en-suite.

"Oh, ma petite chou, you simply don't understand! It takes effort to impress a lady."

Gil crossed her arms and lent back in the vanity chair she'd commandeered. "Francois, you've been seeing this chick for weeks. If she isn't impressed yet, I don't know how a different necklace is going to help."

Francois glared, waving her red lipstick as she might a sword. "Dating, Gilburte, we are  _dating_. And her name is Alizabeth, though she only lets me call her that. Everyone else calls her Al," Francois offered, undeniably pleased. She hummed to herself as she applied her lipstick.

Gil blinked. "' _Dating?_ ' What, not wooing, seducing, or tempting?"

Francois gave her a flat look. "Exactly." With an expert twist of her wrist, she pinned her hair back with a diamond clasp and blew a kiss to the vanity mirror. Lunch date, then, Gil thought. Probably at the best bistro in New York.

Gil gave her a considering look. "So you've completely moved on from Kirkland, then?"

"I," Francois paused, playing with an earring. "Would not say that."

Gil made a frustrated noise. "Then what is this, Francois? A fling? Does this  _Alizabeth_ know she's just a distraction -?"

"She is not a distraction!" Francois growled, spinning to glare at Gil. "She is a good, kind woman! She is clever, and funny, and vibrant! She lives, Gilburte, more than anyone I've ever met. Talking with her, going to museums and parks with her, it's, it's - it's wonderful," Francois finished softly.

"More wonderful than Rose Kirkland?"

Francois pursed her lips, her eyes hard and flat. "This is not why I asked you here." She went over to her bedside table, her heels muffled by the carpet. Gil swallowed, feeling like a tremendous ass. Fuck, who was she to judge Francois' love life? Despite some concentrated attempts, Gil had never maintained a stable relationship in her life.

"I shouldn't have asked, Franny. You know I have your back no matter what."

Francois sighed, turning around with a sheaf of papers in her arm. She walked over and wrapped her free arm around Gil. They stayed like that for a moment, taking comfort in the most solid part of their lives - their friendship.

"I know, ma belle. And to make it up to me, you can drop off my latest manuscript at my editor's," Francois grinned.

"You know most people just email that stuff, now, right?" Gil whined. Francois had been writing romance novels for hundreds of years, switching up her pen names when she bored of them. What she had never bored of was hand-delivery. Her current editor was all the way downtown, meaning Gil either had a half hour walk or a one hour drive in her future.

New York traffic was fucking breathtaking.

"Please, as if I'd trust my efforts to a computer." Francois waved away the suggestion with her hand.

"Huh."

Francois softened, "Please, Gilburte? I'll be late for my date if I try to drop it off on the way and the publisher will send it off to a shitty editor if I'm late on the deadline."

Gil sighed. "Fine, but you owe me."

Francois kissed her cheek. "You have my thanks, ma cherie."

Wiping the lipstick from her cheek, Gil grinned. Didn't Francois know she and Antonia were thanks enough?

* * *

 

Twenty minutes later, Gil was about ready to retract that thought. December in New York just wasn't worth living through. Holiday shoppers battered her in their rush to last minute sales, black ice tripped her up, and carols bombarded her from all sides. There seemed to be a baby crying on every corner.

Who the hell brings a baby Christmas shopping, anyway? Fucking mortals.

Literally the only thing getting Gil through the holiday hell was the huge, obnoxiously expensive coffee she'd picked up. Piping hot and more sugar than coffee, the sight of it was usually enough to make Antonia flinch. Gil savored every last drop.

Heaving open the huge gilded doors of the publishing company, Gil still had her nose buried in her coffee when disaster struck. Turning the corner, she didn't have time to react before - smack! Right into some pion hurrying down the hall.

"Sweet maple! Oh my god, are you alright? I'm so sorry!"

Yeah, you're going to be, Gil thought. She hadn't been planning to wear her fucking coffee. Goddamn Francois and her refusal to get with the fucking times.

A hand appeared in front of her face. Right, and there was another thing. The idiot had somehow managed to catch Gil off-balance or something. Gil hadn't been successfully pushed down since she became a demon. How  _embarrassing, God._

Gil accepted the hand and prepared to give the moron the dressing down for the ages. Ignoring the babble of apologies pouring her way, Gil opened her mouth -

And immediately cursed in her head. Well, damn. The idiot was cute. Of course. Honestly, she should have expected it. Antonia got to meet a cute stranger at a fashion show, Francois met one at the bar - Gil met one while wearing her coffee. Just par for the course, that.

"I really am so sorry," the girl finished earnestly. She looked tired, Gil thought, with dark circles under her beautiful eyes. Almost lavender. Gil felt like an ass for wanting to give her a hard time.

"Nah, it's okay," Gil said at last, letting the girl pull her up. Gil could see the relief in the girl's expression. Probably the first time she'd caught a break the whole damn day. Gil sympathized.

"Honestly, I'm not such a klutz all the time, I swear. Please, let me get you some napkins, or a new coffee, or something?" The girl pleaded. She looked like a deer in headlights. Gil smiled at her.

"No, it's okay, promise."

"You're sure?"

Gil suddenly remembered the manuscript in her bag. Francois had mentioned that she'd changed editors recently, and Gil didn't really know where the new one's office was. This girl would know. She was probably an assistant or something, right?

Gil decided to give it a shot. "Actually, do you know where Matiline Williams is? I have Francois Bonnefoy's first draft in my bag and express orders to hand deliver."

"Oh my god," the girl said, throwing a hand over her mouth. "Shit, I knew that name was familiar. Dammit, Al."

Gil blinked. "What?"

"Nothing, nothing, sorry," the girl said quickly. She took a breath to center herself. It worked, as the next time she opened her mouth she looked much calmer. "Hi. I'm Matiline Williams. My office is just this way, please."

Okay, so not an assistant, then. Walking a step behind Matiline Williams, Gil reassessed the woman. She was tall, probably 5'11, with long, curling blond hair. A red clip held it back from her beautiful face: heart-shaped, full-lipped, and made up minimally. She wore a red cardigan with kitten heels, and her pencil skirt hugged her ass in ways that put amazing ideas in Gil's head. A long, heavy pea coat was flipped over her arm.

"I thought Ms. Bonnefoy would be sending a courier, so I was heading out to finish some last-minute Christmas shopping." Matiline explained, unlocking a door they'd come up to. She held it open and allowed Gil inside.

"Yeah, well, you're looking at her." Gil reached into her bag and pulled out the papers. Gil wasn't even sure what it was Francois had written about this time.

Matiline winced, accepting the papers. She filed them neatly away in a tall cabinet before locking that, too. "And you were covered in coffee for your troubles. You're sure there's nothing I can do to make it up to you?"

Gil looked into Matiline's pretty eyes, thinking of how her curves looked in her pretty little A-line skirt. "Would you like to grab a coffee with me?"

Matiline paused, her beautiful lavender eyes narrowing behind her sharp wire frames. A smirk curled her lips. “I don’t suppose this is a set up for some clever revenge?”

Gil ginned. “Nah, not on such a beautiful woman.”

Matiline laughed, a burbling sound that made Gil’s smile soften without her consent. Surprised at her disobedient mouth, Gil tried to smirk again, but the move felt forced. Instead, she crossed her arms and tried not to grimace as the sticky disaster made of her clothes pressed against her skin. Matiline didn’t seem like a magical, and damn if Gil freaked her out by vanishing the mess in front of her. Mortals were unstable like that.

Generally, Gil tried to avoid romance humans. They were short-lived, delicate, and flighty creatures. But something about Matiline drew her like a moth to a flame.

Worryingly, Gil wasn't quite sure who played which part.

Outside of Gil’s musings, Matiline gave her an innocent look. “You know, I’d hate to make you walk around like that. How about you come to my place? It’s just around the block.” The blond winked, “I’ll even make you my special maple syrup coffee while you change.”

Eyebrow raised, Gil scooped up Matiline’s jacket and held it open to her. With a giggle, Matiline shrugged it on. “Lead the way, beautiful.”

Gil never had been one to deny her desires.

A few hours later found Gil sprawled across a rich leather sofa, her limbs caging in the woman below her. Coffee cups and the remains of some truly  _awesome_ pancakes sat on the living room table, but Gil was more focused on dessert.

“You know, I don’t usually do this sort of thing on a first date,” Matiline breathed. Her glasses were fogged up, her long hair tangled in Gil’s fingers. Gil’s other hand played with the lace of Matiline’s underwear, making her thrash as Gil’s fingers deviled lower.

“First date, hm?” Gil replied. She hadn’t had one of those in years, and  _never_ with a human. Too delicate, to short-lived, Gil was too smart - 

Matiline kissed her, hard, her mouth like an army Gil ached to surrender to. Gil lost track of her thoughts, her mind - maybe her heart. Was their a minimum-hours-needed to fall in love? Gil couldn’t be bothered to remember.   

“Oh, yeah,” Matiline whispered, running her nails along Gil’s throat as the kiss broke. Her eyes were wide-blown, her breath coming in little gasps. She jerked as Gil did something  _particularly_ lovely, judging by Matiline’s ragged voice.  “I made you pancakes. One night stands don’t get those.”

Gil laughed, happier than she had been in ages. Matiline was something else. Smart, stubborn, and haltingly gutsy. Within hours, they’d been talking like old friends. By the time the bottle of Canadian Royal had made its way to the table, well. They didn’t seem to be friends any longer. Bending down to nibble at Matiline’s lip, Gil suckled at a dab of stubborn maple syrup.

“I have to say,” Gil murmured, “If this was just the first date, I’m looking forward to the next one.”

Matiline hummed, her hand sneaking lower, making Gil keen. “And the one after that.”

* * *

 

Matiline Williams woke to the awful sneer of dawn hitting her in the eyes. Whimpering, she tucked her face into the nearest cover, which turned out to be the crook of a warm neck. Eyes flying open, Matiline reared back, hand flying over her mouth as her fangs jutted down.

_Oh, right,_  she thought.  _You probably started dating again last night. Maybe a good idea to avoid trying to eat her until, you know, at least the fifth date._

Unaware of the peril she was in, Gilburte Beilschmidt made an unhappy noise. With as much insistence as an unconscious person could have, she wrapped her arm around Matiline’s waist and pulled her close.

Matiline smiled, running her fingers through Gil’s hair.  _She’s so beautiful,_ Matiline thought, her brain gooey with affection. She hadn’t been so attracted to someone in years. Not even before  _the incident_  had dragged she and her twin to New York.

Sighing, Matiline silently disentangled herself, making her way to the bathroom. New York City wasn’t bad, she reminded herself. She truly enjoyed her new job and had even joined an evening yoga class, which she never would have done back in Canada. Mostly because she'd had hockey in Canada, but whatever. Alizabeth, her twin, had lost much more than Matiline and  _she’d_ managed to make New York work. Al was an IT consultant at a security firm downtown, now. Not exactly what she’d been doing at UCLA (less lasers), but close enough to make the move from California hurt less.

Matiline thought of her twin’s artfully done, but still spray-on, tan. In theory, at least. The sudden infection with vampirism had destroyed both of their lives.  

Stepping into the shower, Matiline closed her eyes. She'd done her best to put  _why_ they'd moved to New York out of her mind. She'd focused on the positive: getting out of her shell, connecting more with her twin, landing a sweet editing job at a fiction publishing house. She'd joined a yoga class, not just because her new paranormal strength made hockey a no-go, but because she liked it. Honest.

There was nothing in New York to remind her of that dirty California warehouse. Nothing to make her think of flashing lights, pulsing music, and  _fangs_. Not until Matiline got hungry, at least, and New York had a large enough magical population that feeding was almost  _civilized_. No stalking people in the night, no pulses fluttering under her lips, no –

No being a monster. Not like the man who’d done this to her and Al. Unbidden, the memories rose. Back then, Al had been studying at UCLA. When her break rolled around, Matiline had come down from Toronto. They'd just wanted to have some fun over spring break, nothing crazy. The rave Al had been invited to had seemed like a safe avenue. A little music, some dancing.  _Nothing crazy_.

They hadn't realized they were being hunted.

To this day, Matiline had no clue how they’d survived. Maybe the monster had wanted a pair of playthings. However, when the moonlight had woken them, the monster was long gone. They’d uprooted to New York weeks later, chasing rumours of other people like them. That was how Al had met Rose Kirkland. Rose Kirkland, who’d broken Al’s heart.

Sighing, Matiline stepped out of the shower. Oh, well. In the wake of her tears, Al had met Francois, at least. Her sister had been waxing poetic about the demoness ever since. Maybe she would be enough to wipe away the last traces of Rose Kirkland.

If so, Matiline would make sure her book hit the bestseller’s list as a personal favour.

“Matt? You didn’t cut and run, did you?” A sleepy voice murmured from the living room. Matiline couldn’t help a smile. There was another thing to love about New York: Gilburte Beilschmidt.

Wrapped in just a towel, Matiline walked back into the living room. “I wouldn’t dare.”

Gilburte was on her in moments, long, pale limbs twining around Matiline’s waist. “Hm, you know I would have gladly helped you with your shower,” Gilburte murmured, nipping teasingly at Matiline's neck. Matiline tipped her head back to give her better access.

“That would have been lovely,” Matiline moaned, resting her hands at the small of Gilburte's back. She could sense powerful energy –  _magic_ – running under Gilburte's skin, there. From personal experience, she knew her fingers lay over the wingtips of what looked like a beautiful, full-back tattoo. Black, ornate, and highly detailed, Matiline ached to kiss every curl and curve. They were Gilburte's wings in her human form, and Matiline already adored them.

"Your wings are beautiful," Matiline whispered.

"Yeah," Gil laughed, "The tattoo artist was something else."

Matiline frowned, "No, I know they're not tattoos. Wait," Matiline pulled back. "You know I'm not mortal, right?"

Gilburte blinked, apparently shocked. "You're not? I mean, er -"

Matiline laughed, letting her fangs slip forward. "I've been a vampire since 2014. I thought you knew, seeing as your friend is dating my sister."

Gilburte paused while realization descended." _Alizabeth_? That's your sister?"

Matiline nodded. "Twins since birth. Now that we've got that cleared up, do you want breakfast? Or," Matiline let her voice drop, becoming husky and smooth. She played with a lock of Gilburte's long hair, twining it around her knuckle. "We could do something else?"

Gilburte growled low in her throat. Her eyes flickered a deeper, bloodier red, and Matiline thought she caught the shadow of horns at her temples. With supernatural strength, Gilburte hoisted Matiline up. Surprised, Matiline wrapped her legs around Gilburte's waist and clung to her shoulders. She didn't bother with the towel, letting it fall to the floor. Gilbert smirked appreciatively.

"Both," Gilburte said, "Both is good." She kissed Matiline, hungry and dominate. Mathew moaned, pressing herself into Gilburte's skin. "After all," Gilburte whispered, Matiline thought, with something like  _relief_ , "We have all the time in the world."

* * *

 

Gil was grinning. Granted, ever since she'd met Matiline, Gil had been grinning, but whatever. She was grinning, and she was happy, and Matiline was amazing. She was smart, and funny, and peaceful. Gil felt at home in her arms.

And now she was going to go brag about it to her friends.

Beside her, Antonia smiled. "You look happier than I've ever seen you, Gil."

"I feel happier," Gil confessed. "Matiline's the best thing that's ever happened to me."

Antonia giggled. "Francois is going to flip hearing you talk like that! She's been trying to turn you into a romantic for centuries!

Gil smiled. Knocking on Francois' apartment door, she replied with, "I guess I just needed to find the right person."

Antonia giggled again, but didn't reply. She had three bottles of wine in hand, in comparison to the two six packs Gil was lugging. As the wait grew, Gil sat the beers down.

"What is she doing in there? We've had girls' night in set for days."

"Do you have a key?" Antonia asked.

"Yeah, one sec," Gil replied. After some fumbling, they were in.

And immediately heard moaning.

"Maybe we should come back later?" Antonia asked. They'd seen Francois in various states over the years, but they tried to refrain from barging in. Mostly. Sometimes. Occasionally.

_Not today,_  Gil thought. They'd had a girls' night in standing for days. Francois could wait to have her wicked way with Al.

"Francois," Gil called. "Quit banging Al and get out here!"

There was a pause, then a shrieking giggle followed by some cursing. Gil thought she recognized the cursing, but that couldn't be right. Why would  _Rose Kirkland_  be in Francois' apartment, especially when Gil knew that shrieking giggle was Al's?

What the hell was going on?

"Gilburte?" Francois answered, poking her head from the bedroom door. Her hair fell in messy waves around her face, as though someone had very recently had their fingers knotted in her curls. Her lipstick was a slicked smear around her mouth, with a contrasting pink smear above her eyebrow. There was a hickey below her ear. All that kept her chest hidden was a clutched piece of tweed.

Tweed. Like a Burberry tweed jacket, as worn by a stubbornly British witch. But, Rose never wore pink lipstick. Shit, she didn't wear makeup at all. The only person Gil knew who would wear a shade like that was -

Gil's eyes went wide. "Francois, you sly bitch!"

"What?" Antonia exclaimed. "What's going on?"

"Nothing much,” Gil cackled, “Franny just figured out how to keep her cake and eat it, too!”

"I'd rather not be referred to as food," Rose Kirkland snapped. She shoved the bedroom door open wide, revealing her equally debauched state. One pig tail was undone, and a smattering of smudged red and pink lipstick trailed from her mouth to the hollow of her throat. Al's bomber jacket was draped over her shoulders, even larger on her petite frame than on Al's tall one.

"Yeah, Gil," Al added, walking up beside Rose. She pressed a fresh kiss into the witch's hair. "Really not cool." Francois' long, silky robe was tied at her waist.

Gil sighed. "Whatever. I take it girls' night is postponed?"

For the first time, Francois appeared sheepish. "If you two would not mind? As you can see, we are in the middle of -  _arrangements_."

Gil raised an eyebrow. "If that's what you call it."

Al nodded exuberantly. "We were already totally  _with_ each other, you know? Now we're just getting the handle on the physical shebang."

Rose sighed. "Alizabeth, darling, please. Don't use that phrase again."

Al pecked her on the lips. "Whatever you say, baby."

Antonia swooned romantically. "Oh, I'm so happy for you! I have to tell Lovi!" She whipped out her phone, typing away dreamily as a four-hundred-year-old scourge of death and fury should never do.

Oh well, Gil thought. They loved her anyway.

"Come on, 'Tonia," Gil said. "Let's leave them to their nastiness."

"Ha," Al laughed. "If I know my sister, you've got some nastiness of your own waiting for you!"

Gil chose neither to confirm nor deny the validity of that accusation, but the satisfied smirk on her lips gave her away.

* * *

 

"And we all lived happily ever after," Matiline breathed, later that night. Gil was pillowed on her chest, enjoying how Matiline ran her fingers through her hair. A Christmas moon shone dully through the New York light pollution.

"For ever and ever," Gil commiserated, and accepted a long, slow kiss. Outside, the first of a promising winter blizzard fell, but Gil didn't care. Matiline's kiss warmed her from horn tip to toe. For once, Gil thought with a grin, it was nice to be a demon in love.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Hello, everyone! If you liked this, I hope you leave a review! I have a ton of ideas for the universe and if there's enough interest I'd definitely love to write some of them up!


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